


ghost drift

by cosmicaeronaut



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Angst, Fix-it fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly hurt, Pacific Rim 2 Spoilers, Unreality?, brain games, is it romantic? gen fic? you decide!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicaeronaut/pseuds/cosmicaeronaut
Summary: After a decade, Newt had finally come back. And he had come back wrong.a slightly abstract look into the ten year tragedy of k-science (and what a certain mathematician plans to do about it)





	1. rock star

**Author's Note:**

> pacific rim uprising spoilers ahead!!!
> 
> i don't write fic often, so i'm a bit rusty. i've just missed these science idiots so much!

_there are hands around his neck._

_there are hands around his neck, and the stars are bright overhead. brilliant blues and reds light the world around him, washing out his skin, searing it with color._

_the blues are above him. millions of dazzling eyes, watching his every move, dictating every breath. the hands tighten, shake, knuckles taut. he pulls uselessly at the tendons, scraping for air._

_the red lights him from behind. strands of digital dna, pulsing around backlit walls, code hastily typed and never debugged -- the last act of a desperate soul. it runs over his vision, pooling in his cheekbones, lighting his assailant's face. newton's face._

_his hands are around his neck._

_he's pushing him into the display, incoherent words falling out of his mouth,_ **_please, hermann, i'm losing, i can't do it -- help me, please--_ **

 

Hermann woke in a cold sweat.

It was three in the morning.

He took a deep breath, wiping the terror from his eyes. His fingers ghosted over the bruise on his neck. Was it horrible to prefer nightmares of the Precursors over this?

He rolled over onto his side, stretching out his bad leg. A photo sat on his nightstand -- he and Newt sharing a drink the night after they closed the Breach, framed slightly off-kilter. Newt, with a set look in his bloodshot eyes, able to focus, talking to him about anything, everything. The first and last time they were on solid ground, after their world-saving Drift.

How many Drifts had he done with the Precursors in the past 10 years? Hundreds? Thousands?

When they had seized Newt's apartment, Hermann had finally met "Alice." He recognized it on sight, the bronze tank and green liquid an artefact of the first war.

**_He is still ours we still control him you will never have him back you treated him like a monster and we made him one in turn--_ **

He had felt their looming presence in the back of his mind, and a long-dead remnant of Newt sparked to life. His nose bled, the pressure at the base of his skull almost unbearable, and he lost his lunch immediately, ruining his favorite shoes.

Hermann hadn't drifted at all in the past decade, not since Hong Kong. He had forgotten the sensation of invasion, of memories that weren't his, of seeing his own face as the world did. He had thought he would hate it; his life, his memories, his thoughts were his own, not to be shared with strangers.

He did hate it, when it was an alien force he didn't understand. But after a decade of silence, he understood why Newt had chased the Drift -- and he was glad he himself had not.

His data pad pinged, an alert lighting the photo frame from below.

 _Excessive noise detected in holding cell,_  it read.

He sighed, pulling himself into a sitting position, turning on the lamp at his bedside. Sleep was overrated. It had been for awhile.

After situating his glasses, he tapped the alert, bringing a video feed into view. Audio crackled through the speakers, scaring him half to death, shattering the silence.

 _"Somebody! Somebody, anybody, please-- can anyone hear me? I'm not supposed to-- you can't hold me here! I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't do it, it was_   ** _them,_**   _you can't hold me responsible-- Hermann! Please! I know you can hear me, you've got to--"_

He fumbled with the volume, then cut the feed entirely, dropping the data pad on the duvet as if it were on fire.

It pained him to see Newt like this. Being used as a veritable skin suit, a mouthpiece for what might as well have been gods. They had kept trying the same trick ever since the PPDC had locked him in a cell: let Newt rise to the surface, freak out, call for help. Then when Hermann ran downstairs, as fast as his leg would let him, it would be the Precursors, laughing at his enthusiasm, his belief.

_Belief._

He'd certainly had enough of that to last him a decade.

Hermann moved the data pad back to the side table and threw the sheets off. He grabbed his cane from where it sat quietly against the edge of the table, and stood, basking in the soft glow of the base through his window.

He had work he could be doing.

 

* * *

 

Newt left Hong Kong six months after the end of the apocalypse.

It was strange. After everything, Hermann had assumed he would be the one itching to leave, to see the world without Kaiju blue lenses. He had dedicated his whole damn life to the cause. Newton had lived before this line of work, had his tattoos, his music, his concerts, his history. He had settled here. This was his last stop -- he had seen it.

And yet, Hermann came to the lab one morning to find half of it missing.

"What--" he had squawked, running over to the line on the floor. "What is going on here?!"

A PPDC worker with a handtruck shrugged, loading a final box. "Dr. Geizler gave the order. He said to, quote, 'pack up his shit.'"

"Well, did something happen? Is he alright?"

"S'far as I know. We're taking these to some building across the river in Macau."

Dread began to pool in his stomach, but he took a breath to compose himself. "That's-- thank you. You've been helpful. Has he left?"

The man shook his head. "He said he doesn't go until this box is onboard."

Hermann took off, sprinting down the corridor with a  _click, click, click._

The weather had no right to be bright and cheery when he emerged onto the tarmac, holding his hand over his eyes to block the sun's glare. A rattling helicopter sat in the middle of everything, with Newt sitting anxiously out the door.

He had his suit jacket on, flip down sunglasses clinging to his tattered frames. His normally mussed hair had been combed, wrestled into something trying to be more adult, more professional. There was a blueprint in his hands, and looking back on the memory Hermann recognized fear in his eyes.

"Newton?" he called, starting that way. When had he developed so much stamina? "Newt, what on earth are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Hermann!" Newt jumped up, the paper flipping back into a scroll as he shoved it into his breast pocket. "What are you doing here?"

There was a beat of confused silence between the two of them.

"Oh, right, you asked me first. Well, uh, I-- I got a job offer, actually."

A what? "A job offer?"

"Yeah! There's this lady, Shao, she's got some interesting ideas about remote Drifting, single-pilot Jaegers, and she's got a wicked good handle on the tech side of things but she wanted me to look at some of the biological effects the single neural load would have at a great distance--"

Hermann cut him off. "You didn't tell me about this."

Newt cocked his head, looking down at him with an almost confused expression. "You didn't ask. Besides, I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I am!" he defended himself, louder than he meant to. "I am, it's just -- well, I had thought--"

"Thought what?"

Hermann wasn't sure what to say.  _I thought we were friends now?_  Or  _I thought we were in this, together, for the long haul?_

Long haul. That was such a Newton thing to say.  _You were inside my head and you're the only one who understands?_  When had he become the emotional one, the one begging for Newt to stay and not the other way around?

Hermann hesitated, then set his hand on Newt's shoulder. "...I had thought we would keep researching the Anteverse. You felt  _them_  too, and we both know they're not going to stop."

For a moment, Newt was speechless. Then he chuckled, stepping back out of his reach.

"It's just for a couple of months, dude. Until we get this project up and running. Then I'll be back here for you to bother as much as you like." He spotted something over Hermann's shoulder and waved -- it was the worker with the handtruck. The crate he wheeled looked bigger in broad daylight.

For a moment, Hermann swore it had a pull to it.

"I'm just gonna be across the river. Tell you what, email me, and we'll have lunch after I get settled. Okay?" He flipped his sunglasses down, not waiting for a reply, and turned to board the helicopter.

The blades began to whir, the wind doing its best to knock Hermann off kilter. "I told you, dude!" he called from the doorway. "Rock star!"

 

* * *

 

A couple of months became a year, then two. Newt never replied to his emails -- the only one he had received was in the third year, excitedly telling Hermann that they had moved into the new building in Shanghai, that he was the lead engineer on Shao's new, top-secret project, and that he had met someone: Alice.

That was the year Hermann began working in the biology lab.

It wasn't like they were short-handed, not anymore -- their efforts had been recognized, publicized. The world knew that two crazy scientists had helped save them through the Drift. It had caused enlistment with the research division to spike, giving Hermann plenty of lab techs to educate and supervise.

He was able to pass on his research about the Kaiju, the facts, the morphology, the science -- but he couldn't get them to  _understand._  He couldn't get anybody to understand.

Newt had understood. He saw it in his head, in the memories left behind. He adored the Kaiju, dedicated himself to their study -- but he also feared them desperately. He understood the power they held, because for a moment, they had held it together.

Hermann still couldn't believe he had left him to his own devices after all of that.

The biology lab at Moyulan Shatterdome had been built next door to his own lab, as per his request.  _He's going to come back,_  he had insisted,  _and he'll need a place to work._

It sat empty for a long while. Pristine white walls and sanitized tool trays collected dust in the dark. He refused entry to anybody who tried to work in there -- it was  _Newton's_  lab.

If anyone noticed him running his own experiments in the dead of night, they didn't say anything. He started small, picking random tissue samples from cold storage, studying how it reacted to touch, light, different chemicals. He recreated experiments that Newt remembered running, learning from his mistakes, improving on his successes.

In the sixth year, he became both mathematician and biologist, taking over the space he had so carefully set aside for his friend. He branched out in his studies, marrying the fields, understanding the internals of a Kaiju from a mathematical standpoint. It was a new field of work, for a new age. A new Hermann.

It had been time for him to face the facts: Newt wasn't coming back.

Unfortunately, for the first time, he had gotten the facts wrong.

On this sleepless night, he found himself back in the biology lab, running tests on one of the Rippers recovered from the Mega Kaiju's corpse. Newt had invented these himself, and it showed -- his slapdash but effective coding drove its processing units, using his intimate knowledge of Kaiju anatomy to create a vile beast.

Over on his viewscreen, a muted feed of Newt sat in the top right. He was still screaming at the top of his lungs, begging for answers. It was taking all he had not to fall for their tricks again, to run down to the cell, to shake Newt out of the vice grip the precursors held him in.

After a decade, Newt had finally come back. And he had come back  _wrong._

The dissected Ripper under his scalpel jerked suddenly, and Hermann jumped, startling backward into another table. He had pinched an involuntary nerve.

He sighed, throwing off his mask and gloves, burying his face in his hands.

He would have to go back down there sooner or later.


	2. feedback

The Precursors weren't a big fan of food, as it turned out.

Four days after they had brought Newt back in from Japan, his vital signs had begun to drop off. He was setting off alarms for dehydration, heat exhaustion, malnutrition.

"What's going on? Is he not being fed?" Hermann asked the guards, standing two heads shorter but filling the gap with sheer volume.

"We're offering him food and water, sir, but he won't eat or drink. We can't force him to do anything," one of the guards replied.

"Besides," the other said, "who cares if the aliens want to starve themselves out? Good riddance."

His buddy elbowed him in the side, but the words were already out there. Hermann drew himself to his full height, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I know this may seem like too big of a concept for your _immature mind_ to handle, but there is  _still a man in there!_  He's still one of ours. Letting the Precursors take him is admitting that they're better than us!"

He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. As if the headache wasn't enough. "We are  _not_  going to let them starve him out. I'll have Medical put him on an IV drip, whether he likes it or not."

The guards exchanged looks, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And do tell me the next time someone is  _dying,_ " he snapped, tapping his cane against the metal floor loudly as he turned to leave.

Sometimes it felt as if he was the only person who cared for Newt's wellbeing. If he was being honest, he probably was. He had enlisted Shao's help in figuring out how the hive mind worked, working tirelessly to figure out how to break the connection in Newt's head. Contrary to how smooth she thought she was, he saw the looks she gave him. It was as if she was helping out of pity, or maybe guilt -- trying to make up for the fact she hadn't noticed Newt's problem sooner. She didn't really believe there was a way back.

It was a fair assumption; their research hadn't been promising. The secondary brains of the Mega Kaiju were severely damaged, and Hermann couldn't get close enough to "Alice" to study it before the feedback was too much for him to handle. (The feedback itself was another problem -- it didn't seem to be giving off any measurable signals, but it sure was fantastic at causing Hermann to lose his lunch.) Shao had to leave the Shatterdome a few days later, giving him an apologetic look and a pat on the shoulder.

The fact she had gotten "Alice" here at all was immeasurably helpful, he knew. It wasn't a total bust.

But on top of that disaster, he couldn't get any of the damned medical staff to go put in an IV.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Gottlieb," the CMO said, shimmering slightly on the display, "but I'm not putting any of my people at risk by locking them in with  _him._  We're short-handed as it is."

He threw up his hands, knocking a stack of papers right off of his desk. "He's just a  _man!_  It isn't that hard to grasp, he's not-- yes, the Precursors have control of his mind, but that's due to years of Drifting! He can't  _infect_  them!"

"With all due respect, you don't know what he can and can't do. We're happy to supply the necessary materials, but we won't step foot in that cage."

She cut the feed, and he sat back in his chair, deflated.  _Some bloody doctors we've got on this base._

He took a breath, and threw the cell feed back up onto the main display.

The Precursors had taken a break from screaming today, instead letting Newt rest with his head lolled forward. Hermann winced -- that would hurt in a few hours. His vitals were still reading poorly, with his core temperature just a smidgen too high, and his water intake much too low. The long-term scan he had started that morning had finally finished, returning alarming results.

He was severely exhausted, running on seemingly no sleep at all. He hadn't had a good meal in over a week, and the last liquid he had drank was a terrible, cheap whiskey. Looking back at the camera feed, he could see that Newt was sickly pale, hair stuck up in strange spots due to sweat.

Suddenly, Newt looked up, staring directly into the camera.

"He's missed you, Hermann.  _I've--_  No, he's. No," and he had to think, looking up at the ceiling and back at the lens. A toothy, malicious grin split his face. "Where have you been? Come see us. Come see him, Hermann--"

Hermann cut the feed.

Wincing, he redialed the CMO. "I'll be down in ten to collect some things."

 

* * *

 

Newt was still in the clothes he wore during the attack.

His grandiose vest was dusty and torn, his black trousers speckled with sand. His sleeves were still pushed back, showing those prized tattoos -- now slightly off color due to his skin's pallor. His eyes were sunken into his face, dark and bruised. Dried blood started to flake off the side of his cheek.

He looked worse in person.

Hermann's head was killing him, and the ache was spreading deep into his bones. Hopefully, the painkillers the CMO had given him would kick in before he passed out -- he wasn't sure anyone would come for him if he did.

He pulled the IV rack in behind him and set down the bag of medical supplies. The heavy metal doors slid shut behind him. "Newton? It's me."

Newt's eyes fluttered open, and his head turned slightly against the headrest. Recognition fell across his face. " _Hermann._  Y-you came back. Please, you've got to tell them, I'm not--!"

His body seized, and he lurched forward, metal cuffs digging into his skin as he trembled violently. It felt like a cement brick had fallen on Hermann's head, but he still ran to him, checking Newt's pulse, feeling his forehead. "Newt! Newton, can you hear me?"

He fell still. Hermann dug through his pocket and found his pen light, propping his head up to check his irises -- bloodshot in his left eye, just as he'd been after the first Drift.

"You know, you've got to stop falling for this joke. I don't know if your heart can take it."

Hermann jumped back as Newt spoke, suddenly cold and collected. He blinked a few times, stretching his neck to the side in a way that made him look alien.

Well, he was.

Hermann steeled himself, clicking the light off and pocketing it again. "I'm here to give him an IV bag. He isn't doing well."

Newt scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What, no love for us?"

" _You_  can rot in hell, for all I care. But you're not taking him with you."

He clicked his tongue, giving a disapproving look. "Since when have you been the sentimental type, Hermann? That's not the man who was ready to give up Hong Kong to keep a few robots."

Hermann tried to ignore the riling words, rifling through his bag to find his gloves and needle. "Looks like we both changed in the last decade."

He hooked the bag onto the stand, unrolling the tubing and attaching it after a few tries. Newt said nothing, but he looked interested in the process, craning his neck to watch him work. He flinched back when Hermann tried to tie the tourniquet on his arm.

"Hey, hey, don't touch me."

Hermann leveled a glare at him.

"...alright, just be quick about it."

He tied off his arm and felt for the vein under the wash of colors. The first thing he noticed was that Newt's skin was warm and clammy, and the second was that some pieces of his tattoo sleeve were raised, slightly.

"You were in a hurry," he murmured, remembering sneaking out of the Shatterdome after Yamarashi's attack, paying double to anybody willing to do the job well. The memory upset his migraine.

"Little bit of scar tissue never hurt anybody," he replied, and  _there, that was Newt._ For a brief flicker, at least. "Would you hurry up?"

He stuck him with extreme prejudice. Then he installed the line, making sure there were no blocks, pulling the stand out of Newt's reach. He swore he heard a sigh of relief.

"There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Hermann asked, snapping off his gloves.

"Bite me."

He rolled his eyes. The Precursors had certainly learned to make the most of Newt's childish behavior. Hermann picked up the pieces of garbage left behind and threw them back into the bag, along with the gloves. The sooner he could get out of here--

"You had enough of that headache yet?"

He stopped, then turned back to face him. "The feedback. What is it?"

"Oh, you've named it! That's cute, you don't need me after all--"

_"What. Is it?"_  he asked again, moving closer than he had meant to, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. His temples were throbbing.

Newt grinned up at him with that unnatural smile, and Hermann swore he had seen a flash of Kaiju Blue in his eyes. "You miss the Drift, don't you?"

Hermann didn't reply. Apparently, his silence was enough.

"What did I tell you? Bit of a  _rush._  If you're up for it, we can go for round two. Seemed a bit... lonely, in there, the first time."

"Shut up."

"I mean, really, Hermann, you can't hedge all your bets on one guy. You need more than one friend. Or no friends, now, I suppose."

Smug arrogance. That was the difference between how the Precursors held Newt and how Newt held himself -- Newt's wit was biting, but he never used teeth.

He let go of him, and he sunk back into the chair smoothly, like it had been his idea. Something in Hermann's breath caught, and he looked away. "I... I'll be back to replace your IV tomorrow."

"You should visit more often,  _Herm._  He's going to think you don't like him anymore."

Hermann didn't look back as the doors closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

The headache started to recede the second he boarded the elevator, and it felt like it drained out of his spine the higher he rose.

So it  _was_  because of Newt.  _Great._

He went back to his lab, stopping the cell recording and starting the data compilation. Hopefully the sensors picked up something of use.

The frozen feed showed Newt staring straight at the camera, as if he could see him. He closed it, but the feeling of being watched didn't leave.

Settled back into his chair, he surveyed the absolute wreckage that used to be his desk. If files and folders were viscera and gore, it would be the spitting image of Newt's side of their old lab.

_Newt, Newt, Newt._  Everything kept coming back to Newt.

He eyed his email drafts, thinking about all of the letters he had written and discarded. Should he have tried harder? Would Newt have come to him for help eventually?

Or had he been lost the moment he left Hong Kong Shatterdome?

Hermann closed his eyes, forcing his memories of the Drift to the surface, letting the blue light wash over him and sink into his pores. (They said memories faded a little each time you remembered them, but he had proven that false.) He concentrated on anything, any small detail, that could clue him into why Newt had done it. Why he had kept crawling back to the Precursors.

Feelings came before imagery.  _Anger, resentment, betrayal. He should have listened, he didn't care, I'll prove him wrong._

_I'll show him._

Hermann gasped, releasing a breath he didn't realize he had held. His hands trembled with panic and fury, and his heart rate spiked, his pulse audible in his ears.

Okay, so there was that.

The problem with Drift memories is that you never knew whose were whose, not precisely. With that said, it wasn't hard to guess. Hermann's numbers and models had kept K-Science in a job during the war, while Newt's discoveries tended to pay off in the long run.

Had he really treated him that poorly? He had thought-- well, he had thought it was part of their rapport. They gave each other shit, that was how it worked. Spite had become their main motivator a long time ago, out on the veranda of a little cafe in Zurich.

_You're absolutely insufferable!_   
_Yeah, well, you're unbearable!_

Hermann pulled a small device out of his pocket; Newt's audio recorder, from the first war. It was beat to hell, the plastic case cracked, charred, and melted in some places.

He spun it through his fingers before pressing play.

_"Hermann, if you’re listening to this,"_   Newt started, the audio quality slightly warbled,  _"well, I’m either alive, and I’ve proven what I’ve just done works -- in which case, ha, I won -- or I’m dead, and I’d like you to know that it’s all your fault. It really is, you know, you drove me to this. In which case, ha, I also won…sort of."_

He clicked stop, but didn't put it down. It rested against his forehead.

The Kaiju may have influenced him, but they hadn't driven Newt away. That had been Hermann's fault. He shouldered the guilt every day without acknowledging it.

He would get him back. He had to. And if that meant his motivations were selfish, then so be it.


	3. outbox

_Dr. Geizler,_

_I hope you have been well through the past months. I have been keeping an eye on your research through the newscycle; Shao Liwen is an extraordinary mind, and you're very lucky to be able to work with her._

_I was hoping to take you up on that lunch offer, if you have the time. I've been sifting through the information we pulled from the Anteverse (is that really the name we're going with, Newton?) and I'd like to compare notes. There is a lovely little cafe that has just opened downtown, near Kowloon Park, that serves the most extraordinary khao tom -- I think you would enjoy the fresh air. I understand you're very busy, but with the construction of Moyulan Shatterdome well underway, I worry we will soon find even less time in our conflicting schedules._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_  
_Hermann Gottlieb_

 

* * *

 

Hermann came into the cell the next day with a small duffel bag.

"Going somewhere?" Newt asked, an unimpressed raise in his brow.

"On the contrary; I come bearing gifts." He set the bag down on the ledge that edged around the walls, digging through its contents with a new purpose.

When he surfaced, he was holding a really big syringe.

"What-- what are you doing, Hermann?" Newt asked, squirming in his seat. Hermann noticed that his skin had more color to it, that the ring of red around his eye was clearing up.

He walked over to the IV line, adding the contents into the solution. "Get some rest, Newton," he said, gently.

Newt blinked up at him with a piercing, betrayed stare, which quickly relaxed into darting, confused eyes. "Hermann? I-- I don't--"

Hermann shushed him, and Newt fell silent; the most compliant he had been since arriving. "I've administered a sedative. You'll be fine in a few hours."

As if on cue, Newt's eyes began to droop, and he struggled weakly against the cuffs. "Herm, w-where's--"

"What? Where's what?"

"--where's... Alice?"

His eyes slid shut and he fell still, breathing steadily.

If not for the sudden minimization of Hermann's headache, he might've kicked Newt's chair in grief. It was still there, but at an almost comforting lull.

He grit his teeth and set to work.

Hermann had decided to take the Precursors' obstruction as a challenge, taking care of Newt the best he could without getting himself throttled again. He removed the IV line and nearly empty bag, setting it to the side as he returned to rifle through his supplies. He retrieved some wet wipes and set to work cleaning the grime off of Newt's face.

It was important that Newt felt like himself. Or, at least, the self he was before he drifted with that  _thing_  and became something else entirely.

His once clean-shaven face was growing a beard in scraggly patches, matted with dried blood from the cut on his cheek. Hermann had considered bringing a straight razor to clean him up, but he didn't want to risk anything. He wasn't sure how much self-preservation the Precursors had.

He lifted Newt's eyelids, and dried contacts fell out, hitting the floor with an audible  _clink!_  Hermann had never known him to wear contacts, and they caught him off guard -- the fact they were still mildly functional after this long was a miracle, really.

A spare pair of Newt's glasses weighed heavy in Hermann's shirt pocket. Would they even be useful after all this time?

He finished tidying up his appearance, bringing him to a semi human state. A crisp, beige dress shirt and blue tie were his last task, sitting on top of the duffel like a grand prize. Lambert had been kind enough to donate them -- or, rather, Hermann had confiscated them from the laundry and Lambert hadn't come looking.

This was why he had sedated him. With a healthy amount of hesitation, he unlocked the chair's wrist cuffs with his data pad, and Newt slumped forward slightly, held in place by the leg braces.

Hermann was going to burn that garish vest. He didn't think Newt would mind.

Once he had changed Newt's shirt, mindful not to tear out the needle guide, he looked ten years younger. After he gave him back his sloppy tie and busted glasses, he looked like a totally different person.

He actually looked like Newt again.

Hermann had just finished replacing the IV and locking him up when Newt woke, faster than he had anticipated. "How... how long was I out?"

He recognized that genuine grogginess. "Half an hour, at most. Do you feel any better?"

Newt cracked an eye, looking over at him wearily. "Feel more sterile."

"That'll do." Hermann finished loading his things back into the bag, his headache gradually surging back stronger than it had started. "...Newt, you--"

He caught himself, unsure of where his train of thought was. The light was starting to hurt his eyes. "...you're stronger than they think. Like I told you -- we'll beat them."

Newt gave him a pained smile, which quickly spread into too many teeth. "Keep telling yourself that."

 

* * *

 

_Dr. Geizler,_

_It's been one year since the end of the war._

_If your inbox has been anything like mine, it's cluttered with invitations for interviews, fellowships, galas. I've done my best to ignore it, but the PPDC wants to put me on a short publicity track to commemorate the occasion. I told them I would be doing no such thing without you -- it was your stroke of brilliance that ended the war, after all._

_There's a party in the Shatterdome tonight, both for the anniversary and as a last hurrah for Hong Kong. We start the move to Moyulan tomorrow; our lab sits empty, packaged into boxes. I found some of your things during the process, and I'm happy to send them should you want them back. (I was going to throw away your garbage PONS helmet, but I've kept it against my better judgement. A souvenir, perhaps?)_

_Most of the old guard is gone. Tendo has officially retired, Ms. Mori and Mr. Becket now hold rank within the upper brass, and Major Hensen is God-knows where. It's just me, now. And you, should you wish to return._

_But you were right, Newton. You're a rock star._

_Sincerely,_  
_Hermann Gottlieb_

 

* * *

 

A week after their arrival at Moyulan, the Precursors finally started asking about Alice.

"So, uh, Hermann," Newt started, characteristically nervous but still not quite right, "you've met my girlfriend, right?"

Hermann narrowed his eyes, uncoiling medical tubing. "We found the Kaiju brain fragment, yes."

"What? No, Alice," Newt said, and it was more of him than it was of the Precursors. "My girlfriend, Alice, we shared the apartment."

Hermann's head pulsed at each mention. A thought occurred to him -- one he didn't like. "Oh! Erm, right,  _Alice._  Yes, I believe she's on base. Can you just-- could you describe her to me, so I'm sure?"

Newt lit up in a way that almost convinced Hermann he was back to his old self. "Sure, she's, ah, not too tall but not too short, about, uh... average-ish build, her hair is this reddish, brownish, blackish color, and, oh! She wears really red lipstick."

Hermann blinked. "...right, okay, you've just described most of the women within a 10,000 mile radius."

Newt floundered, and Hermann could tell he was really digging deep. "Oh, her  _eyes._  They're blue, but they're just-- they're  _so blue._ "

Hermann cocked his head to the side, not sure what to make of his statements.

"Also, she... uh... she was  _really good,_  if you know what I'm saying."

 _Ugh._  He held up a hand, stammering, "no, that's-- that-- don't. We're not talking about that."

The nervous innocence on Newt's face finally broke into grating laughter. "God, your face. He--  _I_ \-- we forgot you were such a prude. Numbers and shit."

Heat rose to Hermann's cheeks, but he brushed off the remark. "Who does he think Alice is?" he asked, clearly addressing  _them_  now.

Newt would have thrown up his hands and shrugged if he could. "There's been a  _lot_  of Alices. We both know he's never been good in the long-term."

Hermann didn't verbalize it, but they were right.

"There was the real Alice, of course. We've watched humans for a long time, we know how they  _work._ " He said it as if they were all pieces of machinery. "We tried to match him with someone suitable, to keep him grounded. Keep him from going completely nutso. She was sorta tall -- pale, thin, brunette, British accent.  _The works._  They didn't get along very well."

He wasn't sure if the white on his vision was anger or the worsening migraine. He massaged his temples while he gave them a glare. "I'm assuming she broke up with him?"

"Oh, no, he broke up with her. Well, we. Well-- her neck." Newt flexed his fingers, watching his knuckles go white and turn pink again. "After she found us."

Hermann's blood ran cold. "You-- you made him..."

"Complicit in a murder, yes sir!" He straightened his back and puffed out his chest, as if saluting him. "He's complicit in lots of murders, but that was his first. It rattled him a bit. But we took care of him. We became his Alice,  _Hermann._  Alice listened to him. Alice  _believed_  in him. Alice knew all of his ideas were good ideas."

He took on a lopsided, eyebrow waggling grin. "Alice treated him  _right._ "

 _"Enough!"_  Hermann shouted. "That's  _enough._ "

Newt seized, head banging back against the headrest. When he looked back at Hermann, his eyes were clear. "She's here, isn't she? Can I see her?"

He had to get out. He had to leave this damnable room, find fresh air. "I-- I'll see what I can do."

And he bolted.

 

* * *

 

_Newton,_

_Congratulations on your new position at Shao Industries! I must say, it's good to hear from you after so long. The technology you and Shao Liwen have developed has seen incredible progress, and I do hope you'll keep me in the loop on any of your major scientific discoveries._

_I know I'm stating the obvious, but Shanghai is quite different from Hong Kong. Have you been practicing your Mandarin in recent years? It's used fairly regularly on Moyulan, but I haven't had the time to dedicate to it, myself. I'm in the lab more often than not these days -- all of our technology is state-of-the-art now, no more chalkboards or RGB-holo displays. The biology lab doesn't see much use anymore, either, despite its shine; not many Kaiju around to pick apart._

_Alice sounds like a lovely girl. I'm sure Shao is happy you have someone to keep you in line. Dinner sometime sounds lovely -- I'll have to see when I can get away from my research._

_You will be missed in K-Science, but at least you're not letting your intellect wither on the vine. If you should ever need my help on your project, you needn't but ask._

_Sincerely,_  
_Hermann Gottlieb_

 

* * *

 

" _Herm._  Hermann? Come on, man, you can't do this to me."

Newt started showing signs of withdrawal twelve days after arrival. This wasn't a trick or ploy by the Precursors -- he was experiencing legitimate symptoms from his Drifts with Alice.

Hermann was not about to let him relapse now.

"Newton, you've got to understand this. It--  _she_  isn't good for you. Your neurons are stretching themselves too thin, humans were never meant to interface with Kaiju at  _all,_  let alone thousands of times--"

Newt cut him off, a hurt look on his face. " _You don't understand!_  I need her here, I'm not-- I'm not strong enough without her," he whimpered.

_I'm not strong enough._

The phrase crept into Hermann's throat and made his trachea ache.

Hermann rested a cool hand over Newt's clammy forehead, and his bloodshot eyes slid shut in momentary relief. "What's happening to me?" he asked quietly.

Hermann shook his head. "I don't know, Newt. I'm trying, I-- I'm trying. I am. You're going to pull out of this, you just need to hang on."

He pulled his hand away, pulling a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and walking to the spigot in the room. A fever wasn't an option; the medbay wouldn't take him, and Hermann could barely stand being in the same room with the man for longer than an hour. Was there anything he could give him for withdrawal that would work? It wasn't as if he had taken opiates or was a desperate alcoholic -- it was all cognitive, all neural impulses.

Newt would know how to treat such a thing, if he were both aware of it and able to help. He was probably the only person who could.

Hermann had an idea, though. It wasn't a good one.

He laid the damp cloth on Newt's forehead, and he fell still, trembling slightly in the shoulders. Something about him looked thinner, but not in a good way. He was sickly, shrinking, taking himself in at the seams. Hermann sat down in the chair he had brought down from the mess hall, steeling himself.

"You can't Drift with Alice. But... would you Drift with someone else?"

 ** _"No!"_**  Newt shouted, suddenly awake, the voices of the Precursors lacing his own. The cloth fell into his lap.  _"No, it has to be Alice!"_

"Newton, I can help you," Hermann persisted, holding a hand up to block the light from entering his eyes. "We've shared the neural load before. I can take some of this pain--"

"You can't!" he said again, but this time it was just Newt. "That's what  _they--_  I-- he, no, we,  _no!_ \--"

Newt cried out, trying to shrink in on himself, rattling the frame of the chair. Hermann gripped his face, pulling off his glasses, trying to assess the situation.

" _Newt!_  Newt, can you hear me?"

He was breathing heavily, eyes scrambling behind closed lids.  _"It has to be Alice,"_ he repeated, and it sounded like his throat had been scorched. "I'm not strong enough. I'm... I..."

Hermann took a trembling breath, wiping the tears on his own face with his sleeve. The syringe was in the bag. He could let him sleep this off.

But he had to know he was strong enough.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm truly sorry."

 

* * *

 

_It's four in the morning and I haven't slept in a week._

_Every time I close my eyes I see_   ** _them._**   _They're breathtaking and petrifying and powerful and_   ** _everything_**   _and I am afraid, Newton Geizler, of this world you brought into my head._

_Five years, almost to the hour, now. Something is happening there, in the Anteverse, there is an event occurring under our feet within the space between our oceans and I know you can feel it, too, but you won't talk to me._

_No one listens. Is this how you felt? I am the Cassandra of the PPDC, the crazy old man living in the laboratory (40, Newt, I'm 40 and I haven't seen so much as a fucking birthday card) shredding precious Kaiju scraps for the smallest nanobits of information because I am_   ** _terrified_**   _of what's beyond our universe. When I was a child I wanted to go to space but now that you've brought me here I just want to go home, Newt._

_I want you to come back, Newt._

_I've sent hundreds of these letters and I've written thousands to match and I don't know what happened between us. After the Drift, we were finally aligned, for the first time, and then something happened and you left. You wouldn't have said goodbye -- I thought at first that you would have if I hadn't found you first, but I see now that I was wrong._

_You are doing extraordinary work with Shao. You are doing extraordinary research that is going to put me out of a job and I am still here, in the PPDC, running numbers that nobody needs for a war nobody fights anymore. A war no one but we are anticipating. Are you anticipating it, Newt?_

_I know you stopped listening to me long ago. I don't know why I kept writing. It gives me something to do when I can't sleep without feeling the weight of eons on my chest._

_I hope you're happy, Newton Geizler._

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more chapters coming soon!
> 
> in the meantime, i've made a companion mix on suan.fm: http://suan.fm/mix/r1L7s265z


	4. foreign bodies

"He read all of your emails, you know."

Hermann's eyes whipped up to meet Newt's, which were sunken and dark due to the worsening withdrawals. He was seated on the opposite side of him now, moving the IV to his other arm.

"What?"

Newt was sitting shirtless in the chair, an uncomfortably colorful shrine to the monsters now squatting in his brain. Hopes of dodging the fever were permanently dashed -- he was sitting pretty at 39.7 Celsius.

Hermann was at 39.0.

"Your emails. The sad, desperate letters you kept up for 10 years?" The state of Newt's body had left the Precursors irritable, more likely to provoke. "We made sure he read them.  _All_  of them."

They said that as if Hermann hadn't wanted him to read them. He had, that was the whole point-- it was the response that scared him.

"So?" he asked, looking back down at his work. His voice was muffled behind a flu mask; he didn't want to risk infecting him.

Newt sucked air through his teeth as Hermann inserted the needle, making Knifehead a bit more literal. "You're a lot nicer on the page. I can see why you --  _we--_  you hit it off. So we may have done a little...  _light_  editing."

Taping up the site, Hermann set his jaw to keep himself calm. "What do you mean?"

" _Newton,_  your work is extraordinary,  _Newton,_  remember when we drifted with that  _disgusting_  Kaiju,  _Newton,_  I'm all alone and have no one to talk to,  _Newt,_  I miss you--  _ow!_ "

Hermann held up the piece of tape, now useless. "I'm sorry, go on?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "They were a distraction. Why do you think we gave him a girlfriend? He needed something to do in his downtime other than agonize over his inbox."

He felt the tips of his ears flush pink, and tore a new piece of tape. "So you're the reason he never replied."

"Ha! No, silly, that was still  _you._ " The smile twisted into a groan, then bounced back. " _Dr. Geizler,_  I'm making so much progress without you.  _Dr. Geizler,_ remember when I saved the world?  _Dr. Geizler,_  I'm glad you left.  _Dr. Geizler, run along and play with your toys."_

Hermann finished taping down the IV line and rolled his chair back in front of Newt, pulling the mask down under his chin. "You twisted my words against him."

"Well, when you say it that way, it almost sounds cruel," he fired back. "We didn't say anything that wasn't implied. We've been in your head too, remember?"

"You weren't in my head long enough to imply anything."

"True, true. But we were in there long enough to unlock the back door."

Hermann's stomach suddenly felt like stone, and he doubled over, clenching a hand over his mouth.

"We've been  _watching you,_ " Newt singsonged, the warp of the Precursors in his words. "We know what you really think. You want to know what your 'feedback' is? It's  _your guilt._  It's good ol' human empathy!  _You_  did this to him, Hermann Gottlieb, you told him he wasn't good enough, that his research was going nowhere, that he  _wasn't missed._ "

"I-- I never--" The bile was hot in his throat. This wasn't him, this wasn't his body's reaction. Something was  _wrong._

Newt leaned forward as far as he could, looming over the troubled scientist. "You're going to watch your friend wither and die and then we'll take you next, Hermann Gottlieb. Or, you can bring us to him. Bring  _Alice._ "

Hermann retched and heaved in response, trying to get rid of food he hadn't eaten. "Go to hell," he spat. His head felt as if it were split in twain, vision totally dark.

Newt shrugged, then jerked his head to the side. Hermann suddenly locked up and fell unconscious, sliding out of his chair and onto the grated floors.

"I'll meet you there."

 

* * *

 

_He was falling._

_He was falling and the world was viscous, thick gooey atmosphere that stuck in his hair and slowed his descent._

_The binary stars shrouded him in his own shadow, heating his shoulders but freezing his face and muscles. Blue energy spiked on his outstretched hands, carving silicone with mechanical precision._

_Hermann was falling, towards the outstretched arms of the Precursors._   ** _We are one. You are one of us._**

"Hermann? Hey, man, you alright?"

Newt snapped his fingers in front of Hermann's face, waving his whole hand when he didn't get an immediate response. "I know you only drink when... well, okay, you never drink, but half a beer doesn't do this to anybody."

Hermann sucked in a breath, reminded of where he was, who he was with. Newt rested a still trembling hand on his arm, helping him set his drink back down on the table. "You there, buddy?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm--  _fine._  I think I need a bit more of this." He picked up his arm, bringing the glass back to his lips, shaking his head clear. "It's been a very long day, Newton. What were you saying about the... the Anteverse?"

Newt's tired eyes lit up. "I hadn't said anything yet."

They looked at each other, then started laughing, cautious at first.

This was so goddamn weird.

It was the night the clock stopped, and the mess had been turned into a party room, barrels of once rationed lager now freely flowing to anyone who wanted them. Newt and Hermann had hidden themselves at a table in the corner of their own accord, having been split by the crowd and reunited by luck.

Or the Drift, more likely.

"I can't believe that you-- you've never Drifted with  _anybody?_  Ever?" Newt crossed his arms, leaning across the table, as if he could read the story straight from his mind. "Not even in Academy?"

Hermann smiled sadly, taking another labored sip of beer. "You know I didn't make first cut."

"Yeah, I know your dad--" Newt cut himself off, and Hermann knew he felt the same flash of anger in his stomach. "I mean, well. There's a first time for everything, man."

He clinked their glasses together comically.

There was a bit of stale air between them, and Hermann cleared his throat, unsure how to continue. This was the longest they had gone in the same room without foul words.

"Newt, I--"

"Herm," Newt cut him off, "it's fine, I-- I know."

He took off his glasses, setting them on the table, wiping his face on his sleeve.

_"He couldn't do it without you, either."_

Newt's eyes opened Kaiju blue.

Hermann turned, startled, and was met with the glowing Shanghai skyline and a puff of hot air.

He was standing at the window of Newt's apartment, his breath condensing on the glass.

Liquid sloshed against the counter behind him, and a glass broke, slipping through trembling hands. " _Fuck!_ " Newt exclaimed, emotion thick in his voice.

Hermann looked behind him, finding the scientist seated on a bar stool. Shards of glass trapped him in his place, blood dripping from his hand.

Blood dripping from both hands.

**_What's wrong?_**  a voice asked.

"I-I-I don't-- I don't understand," he stammered, not looking back. "I don't-- she wasn't going to hurt you! I wasn't-- I wouldn't let her!"

**_She would have used us against you. Now, we are safe._ **

Hermann moved toward him, glass crunching under his shoes. The voice was everywhere and nowhere, clear as day in a language he had never heard.

"No! No, we--  _I'm not safe!_  There's a... she..." he wailed suddenly, shock abading and sorrow filling its place, his body curling in on itself. "Alice.  _Alice._ "

**_What are you talking about? Alice is not gone._ **

Hermann reached for Newt's shoulder, attempting to give him solace, but his hand passed through the smoke and hit the counter.

He was just a ghost of the Drift.

The seat was now empty, and a low hum came from the bedroom, a green glow that overpowered the lights of the city.

**_We are still here. We still love you, Newt._ **

Hermann followed the sound, his cane light on the short staircase.

**_We know your thoughts. We know your dreams, your wishes, your desires. We are the only ones that can make them possible._ **

The bedroom had been trashed. Blood spatter lined the walls, the ceiling, the sheets. In the corner, a large tank, radiating heat.

Newt was standing behind him in the doorway. Both of his eyes were red with blood, nose still streaming. He quaked in place, seeing his deeds with clarity. "What... what have I  _done?_ "

**_You have done nothing wrong. We only want what's best for you, Newt._ **

A sheet covered a corpse on the floor, lying up against the tank. It was backlit against the stained fabric, a shadow of what once was.

**_She was weak. She would have you made weak. But you are strong._ **

Hermann knelt down, with hesitation.

He removed the sheet.

His own face stared up at him, eyes slightless, lips parted slightly.

Newt gasped, and he could suddenly see him, standing in the shade of the Precursors' light.

_"Alice?"_

He ran forward and took Hermann in a hug.

"Alice! Oh-- oh, my god, I--  _Alice,_ " he cried into his shoulder.

Hermann rested a hand on his back, feeling nothing at all.

**_Without us, you are weak. But with us, you are strong enough._ **

_"Put on the helmet, Newton,"_ Hermann murmured.  _"We'll show you how strong we are."_

On the glass of the tank, he saw himself.

On the glass of the tank, he saw Kaiju blue.

 

* * *

 

Hermann started awake in the medical wing, choking on his own bile.

"Gottlieb?" a voice asked. It was Jake Pentecost, sitting vigil at his bedside. He set a plastic tub in Hermann's lap. "Gottlieb! Calm down, you-- you're fine, you're in the Moyulan Shatterdome--"

Hermann knocked Jake's hand off of his shoulder as he wretched, the memory of the Precursors' voice burning his throat. "Don't--  _don't,_ " was all he could muster.

Jake sat back in his chair, concerned. "We found you on the floor of Dr. Geizler's cell," he said, voice gentle. "Do you know what happened?"

The Precursors.

" _Newt,_ " he coughed. "Newton, is he--"

"He's fine," Jake cut him off, handing him a tissue, "he's fine. Hasn't said a word since you've been out."

Hermann wiped the mess off of his face, and took in his surroundings -- the bright white of the medical facilities, the sterile bite to the circulated air, the thin linen of the hospital gown. The IV in his arm.

"How long  _have_  I been out?" he asked, suddenly feeling very, very awake.

"Four days. You were having some sort of neurological attack," Jake said, "sort of like a neural overload. I hate to break it to you, mate, but you look terrible."

Terrible was an understatement. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the far wall -- both of his eyes were red, with the remnants of a nosebleed crusting under his septum. It was the spitting image of Newt in his dream.

Dream. Was it a dream?

"Who's been taking care of him?" Hermann asked, turning back to Jake.

"Ah, well--" and now Jake looked sheepish-- "I, uh, have. I have. I couldn't get anyone else to. But he's been drinking fluids and eating small amounts, so I was able to get him off of the IV."

Surprisingly good news. "Did he still seem... affected?"

Jake shook his head. "No, not really. He seemed a lot like how he used to be, back during the war, he just wasn't talking. I could tell he was concerned."

So it had been them. They had stopped their focus on Newt to attack his senses. But that would mean...

Well. It would mean a lot of things that Hermann hadn't considered.

"Jake," he said, "I think I understand now."

Jake cocked his head to the side. "Did you hit your head on the way down?"

"No! Well, I-- erm-- I don't think so. No, I mean, I think I understand how the Precursors have held onto Newt for so long, even though he hasn't-- hasn't--"

He puked in the tub again. Jake handed him another napkin.

"Gottlieb, you need rest first. Once you're back up to spec, I'm all ears, but I don't need to lose one of the PPDC's best because he refused to take it easy." Jake was doing so well in filling his father's shoes -- even if he was just the interim Marshal.

"I-- you're right," he said, settling hesitantly back onto the sheets. "You're right. I just-- can you get my data pad?"

Jake handed him the device, as if anticipating the question. "Get some  _rest._ "

Then he left, leaving Hermann alone in the room.

He turned on his data pad and started typing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend kip has been the best beta reader for me on this fic, and we accidentally titled our works the same! go read their fic, it's legitimately fantastic (and set in the same minicanon): https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195799


	5. inbox

_they've been in my head for years and i can't get them out._

_every time i realize, every time i remember, they draw me back. i see things-- i see people, i see alice, i see you, hermann_

_something is wrong. i thought i was a blackout drunk, or maybe it was the stress of the drones, but i wake up and there's blood under my fingernails. there's bruises on my temples. i'm in the drift for longer and longer and longer and longer and i don't know where i stop and they start and i'm so so scared i don't know what i'm going to do_

_i tried to tell somebody, no, i did tell alice. and now she's different, now she's quiet, now she hums_

_i tried to tell the security guard that watches me when i leave my apartment and i woke up in medical getting yelled at by shao about workplace conduct but i wasn't drunk, i wasn't i wasn't i wasn't_

_you're here sometimes. you sit on my couch and smell like chalk and gross tea and tell me to listen to them, that they know best, that their plan is the best and i would be foolish to try something different. but his eyes are blue and yours are brown and you hate them so so so so so so so so much so why would you_

_you hate them. you hate me? your letters are confusing and misleading and i dont know how you feel anymore but thats just how you've always been anyway. i dont know. I DONT KNOW! i don't know anything anymore i don't understand i don't understand i dont understand_

_i just want_

_i dont know what i want. i know what they want_

_war_

_destruction_

_i guess i want peace. i just want peace. i found peace in the drift once_

_i miss you, hermann_

 

**Delete Message? <Y/N>**  
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* * *

 

Newt woke up with no idea where he was.

Bright light poured in from the ceiling, shrouding the edges of the room in shadows and blinding his sight. His head was going to explode, he knew it. His wrists were raw and chapped against the metal cuffs, and where was his shirt? God, it was cold in here.

Focus. Focus, Newt. What the hell was going on?

He remembered the drone launch. He remembered the-- the drone failure.

Something had happened. Had Shao done something? Had  _he?_

He remembered running to Shao's office, then getting pulled out of the hall, then--

_"Hermann."_  His throat felt scorched. Was he sick?

Hermann had showed up at Shao Industries, and he hadn't wanted him there. Why hadn't he wanted him there? They were-- they were captured, then they kicked ass, then they--

What had happened after that?

He set his head back against the headrest. It was  _there,_  just out of reach, a hazy memory in the dark just barely lit in neon glow.

_I-I-I'm sorry, Hermann._

_They're in my head._

Oh god, now he remembered. He had... Hermann...

Just like Alice.  _Just like Alice._

He noticed the empty chair in front of him, a small bag just barely out of sight in the shadows. Was someone here?

"Hello?" he asked, frantic now. " _Hello?_ "

Don't look down, something told him. Don't look.

Well, he was never good at listening to that little voice.

He strained forward, looking down, next to the chair, and found a body slumped on the ground. A cane was discarded next to him.

_"Herm--!"_  was all he managed before his throat cut out. His mouth moved, but no sound followed.

He was here. He hadn't... well, he hadn't killed him before, at least.

**_Be quiet. We're busy._ **

Hermann was splayed out on the floor, dead-- no,  _breathing._  Just barely.

They'd taken him. Why had they taken him?

**_He's keeping us from you, Newton._ **

What-- that was...

That was Hermann's voice.

**_We're just talking to him -- just talking._ **

_Give it back,_  he thought,  _that isn't yours._

**_It isn't yours either. So what gives you the right?_ **

And the feeling was gone.

He was alone.

 

* * *

 

_Hermann,_

~~_I know it's been awhile since we_ ~~

~~_I haven't spoken to you in three years but I need you to know that_ ~~

~~_It's them Hermann they're taking my words away from me_ ~~

~~_Hermann, I'm sorry_ ~~

 

**Delete Message? <Y/N>**  
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**Message deleted.**

 

* * *

 

Jake found Hermann four hours later.

Newt had kept the time. Well, he had tried. Well, he was estimating.

Pentecost's kid had burst into the room like a madman with a stun gun raised. "Gottlieb?" he called.

Newt ducked his head, frantically mouthing  _Don't shoot! Don't shoot!_  God, he missed talking. He'd never felt more himself, but he was completely incapable of showing it.

Jake cocked his head, confused by his behavior, probably. Then, he spotted Hermann, splayed out on the floor.

"Gottlieb!" He holstered his weapon, the doors sliding shut behind him. "God, he's burning up."

Newt looked up hesitantly, spotting Jake knelt on the ground.  _Get him out,_  he mouthed.

He had caught Jake's attention. Jake turned Hermann on his back, and there was blood pouring from his nose, pieces of his glasses lenses stuck in his shirt. His mouth moved ever so slightly, but his words were unintelligible. "Geizler, what happened to him?"

_Get him out,_  he repeated.  _Away._

"Why aren't you talking?"

Newt huffed, exasperated.  _No sound,_  he mouthed.

"Is this a trick?"

Newt shook his head vigorously. He needed Jake to understand how serious he was.  _Away. From. Me. And. Alice,_  he enunciated.

Realization dawned on his face. "Both of you Drifted with the Kaiju," he said, as if that explained the whole situation.

Newt nodded. He didn't have enough time to explain anything, not enough words to make him understand.  _Get him out!_

Jake hesitated. "Fine. But you're explaining this later."

_Fine!_  he tried to shout.  _Go!_

As Jake lifted Hermann, the scientist shifted, groaning slightly in pain. "...Newt...?"

_Hermann._

"He's here, Gottlieb," Jake said, stepping towards the door. "You're gonna be alright."

Newt spotted it as the door shut. Hermann's cane, discarded at his feet.

_Wait, wait! You forgot--_

He was alone. Again. With this awful awful headache.

And the knowledge that what was happening to his friend was his fault.

 

* * *

 

_Dr. Gottlieb,_

_Long time no see! Man, three years just flies by fast, huh? How are you doing these days?_

_Thought I'd give you a little life update, keep you in the loop -- Shao is moving us to Shanghai! Our project needs a little more floor space, so we've been building a high rise in the city. Work smarter, not harder, you know? Speaking of the project, we've been greenlit! You're gonna shit your pants, dude. The stuff we're building? History in the making._

_Thanks to the tower, I get my own apartment to go with six figures. Crazy, right? No more tiny apartment in the middle of Macau. It helps me stay close by, too, as the project manager. Alice and I are super stoked._

_Speaking of, I met this girl: Alice. She works in HR at SI. We've been together for like, what, nine months now? She's awesome, Herm, just incredible. She has the bluest eyes, and the prettiest voice, and god. You'd love her. We should totally get dinner some time, the three of us!_

_Anyway, I need to get back to work. Congrats on the move -- Moyulan looks like a great place, really. Tell K-Sci I said hi!_

_Dr. Newton Geizler_   
_Project Manager, Shao Industries_

 

* * *

 

The chair was just really fucking uncomfortable.

Newt slept, fitfully, and by morning he thought he might've been better off without trying. He gave talking another shot, and was disappointed to find his voice still gone.

His headache was worse. His headache was worse and his hands were trembling and his heart felt like it was going to explode and yeah, that was a different problem he didn't feel like trying to solve at the moment.

He tried to ignore the itch for the helmet. The itch for that  _rush,_  the feeling of connection in something unreal. It wasn't like drugs -- the feeling had never diminished. This was something humanly unattainable.

He needed them--  _it._  He needed Alice.

Jake came in late that day, weary and out of uniform. No greetings, no small talk. Just like his old man. "What did you do to him?"

Newt blinked back.

" _Gottlieb._  What's wrong with him? You said we had to get him away from you and the tank, and he's not getting better."

He had to weigh his options. Elaborate, and something happens to Alice. Don't talk, and something happens to Hermann.

Hermann couldn't give him that rush, could he? Nothing like Alice.

Newt leveled him with a stare, trying to act tough, but knowing that his choice was--

"Real fucking cold, bruv," Jake said.

He was disappointed. Newt knew he should feel guilty -- hell, he wanted to feel guilty, he wanted to be told he was wrong -- but instead he looked towards the IV.

Eyes traced the tubing down to its entrance through Knifehead. His stomach growled up at him.

He looked back towards Jake expectantly.

"...food, huh?" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright, I'll get your damn food. But it's gonna be real gross and disgusting until you help us out-- help your  _friend_  out."

Jake turned to leave, then paused.

He picked up the cane -- Hermann's cane.

"Geizler," he said, not turning around, "if you're in there, he's depending on you. Don't let him down again."

 

* * *

 

_i don't have a lot of time._

_something is happening in the anteverse. i think the birthing zones have finally been rebuilt. it's taken them five years but they've come back from the war and now they're waiting on me, my work._

_they want to come back, hermann. they want to come to our world_

_i want to let them._

_i know, it's stupid. it's my earth too but i-- we were treated so badly by it. both of us, you and me. i kind of want to see humanity fail, now. we saved their asses and drifted with the kaiju and risked OUR lives but are we the heroes?_

_no. we're destined to be the losers._

_i want you to join me. i don't know how i would get you here, how i could convince them, but i_   ** _need_**   _you here. for my sanity, for what's left of it_

_i know the truth about alice. i've always known, i just...... i choose to see it differently. but you still appear. sometimes you're on my couch, sometimes you're in my kitchen, sometimes you're asleep in my bed while i'm lost in the drift_

_always when i'm in the drift. you are a ghost that i brought with me into the drift and they can't figure out how to get rid of you_

_they'll be coming back soon. they'll delete this message. i just want to talk to you one more time before we blow it all to hell. i just need one more drift with you_

_come lose yourself in the drift with me, hermann. we'll be rock stars, for real._

 

**Delete Message? <Y/N>**  
 **> >**  
 **> >**  
 **> >**  
 **> >**  
 **> >**  _n_

**Message saved in _Drafts (1)_.**

 

* * *

 

They came back for him.

He was asleep when it happened, finally used to the damn chair, used to his bones aching and his skin crawling where it hit cold metal.

**_Newt._ **

It was his own voice again. Had they let him go?

**_We're sorry for leaving you alone for so long._ **

Bullshit. Where was Hermann? Was he alive?

Silly question. He knew he was alive.

**_We made him an offer. He's considering it._ **

Newt could feel Hermann in the base of his skull, quiet and thin but still buzzing. Still alive.

A ghost Drift connection, sending packets in bursts.

**_It's time to rest, Newt. We'll take it from here._ **

What if he didn't want to go back? Did they think of that? If they cared so much about  _his_  feelings, why did they send him to--

**_Enough._ **

Newt felt himself fall back, out of his body, into a void. The world swirled around him, energy crackling blue, as he passed his double.

He remembered this feeling, now, as his mind fell back into the Anteverse.

He wasn't a big fan of it.


	6. adrift

Hermann had obtained the mobile PONS unit not too long ago.

It was late at night, sometime in the seventh year, and he was down in cold storage looking for a piece of Kaiju he had never disassembled before. Cold storage was usually so quiet, he could almost hear Newt in the back of his head, guiding him.

_We haven't done brain tissue, yet,_  he could hear Newt suggest.  _I know you're kinda nervous, but--_

"--that's why I've done this," Hermann mumbled to himself. "Work my way up."

Right. He wanted to understand the Kaiju hive mind; its effects on the human brain, the length of time someone remained connected.

He wanted the nightmares gone. He wanted a good night's sleep for the first time in seven years.

Medical had suggested therapy. Hermann had argued that his methodical research into Kaiju physiology was therapeutic enough. (It was incredibly stressful, actually, but no one was allowed in his head. Not again.)

Hermann outranked most of the medical staff, so they let him do whatever.

The halls of cold storage were long and winding, with smaller access doors branching off of the main route. Each section was dedicated to a theorized "system" of the Kaiju, but there was a lot of guessing involved. Newt had come up with the cataloging system, as well as the classification system. Most of what they had, he would have considered tissue samples.

Newt's research haunted him, mentally and physically.

He was wearing his parka, his cane the only echo in the hall. The storage unit for the nervous system was all the way at the back, a physical deterrent to any unscrupulous parties looking to cause trouble. Security cameras covered every inch of every visible surface, lighting up the otherwise ominous empty space.

It was such a long walk. He would feel the trek in the morning.

_Don't overdo it,_  Newt might've told him.  _Stop and rest if you need to._

They were funny like that. He and Newt had their disagreements, but physical ailments were never a target. They both had their share of maladies -- Hermann with his bad leg, Newt with his mental health.

_Newton, have you taken your medicine?_   
_Hermann, sit down a minute. Catch your breath._

Hermann had never realized how functional they actually were until the Drift showed him.

As he approached the back cooler, his breath long since crystallized in front of him, he noticed that the door was ajar. Voices drifted out of the metal box.

"...this really doesn't feel like a good idea," one said. "If Dr. Gottlieb finds out about this--"

"Calm down, he won't; we looped the cameras. Now help me hook this thing up."

"I just-- I feel like there's a reason people don't do this. Dr. Gottlieb did, and he's totally different now. Dr. Geizler did, and he left the PPDC entirely."

Hermann approached the door, recognizing the voices as techs from his lab. What were their names...? So many had come through.

"Geizler is a  _legend._  They wouldn't have won the war without him -- he's earned his right to do what he wants." The voice strained, as if lifting something. "And Gottlieb just couldn't take it."

He burst into the room without a plan, finding three people crowded around a silver terminal station. It looked sleek, but definitely handmade. Two of them, wearing PONS helmets, were biology techs, and the one at the controls worked with engineering.

They were trying to drift with a fucking brain sample.

"What the  _hell_  do you think you're doing?" Hermann asked, trembling like a leaf with fury.

"Erm-- Dr. Gottlieb, sir!" the one at the controls saluted, stepping back. She looked pale, stricken with the shame of being discovered.

"Take those damn things off," he hissed, tapping his cane against the floor. The bio techs picked their jaws up off the ground and scrambled to remove the PONS, snapping to attention.

"Sir, we just--" one of them started, but the other cut him off. "Dr. Gottlieb, sir. We want to  _understand._  The amount we could learn with them in the Drift--"

Kids these days. "What is it, exactly, you're trying to understand?" he asked through gritted teeth. "The PPDC regulations against unauthorized PONS usage, perhaps? Or how fast I could have you court martialed?"

None of them said anything. The realization of their actions seemed to have hit, and the consequences couldn't be far off.

Hermann sighed.  _They're just kids, dude. Scare the hell out of them._

"Do you know why humans don't drift with Kaiju?" he asked, tone academic. (We all have our defense mechanisms.) There was still no response from the peanut gallery. "I'm asking you a question."

"B-because of the hive mind. Right?"

"Exactly. Very good, Nereid."  _Finally,_  a name to put to the face. He had had such high hopes for her in his department. "Because the hive mind is a two-way connection, we can learn all of their secrets, but they also learn ours."

"Then why did you do it?" one of the bio techs --  _Crandall,_  it was coming back to him -- asked. "In the first war. Why did you do it? Why did Geizler do it  _twice?_ "

"Before we Drifted, we knew  _nothing_  of the full consequences," Hermann said, and venom was starting to creep back in his voice. "We didn't know about the hive mind, we didn't know about the Anteverse, we didn't know about the trauma. The-- the nightmares.

" _Doctor_  Geizler took a risk the first time and nearly killed himself. And he knew  _vaguely_  what he was doing. The second time, we didn't have a choice. I--"

He wasn't sure why he was telling them this. Maybe he really should see a therapist.

"I shared the neural load. That's all. And, again, we both  _nearly died._  I still suffer from the effects, myself. Humans do not drift with Kaiju brains because  _it isn't worth the risk._  The world is not ending tomorrow."

The cadets looked deflated, almost, but definitely scared. Rightfully so-- he had never spoken for so long on the subject before.

"You can think what you want of me, but you're not Drifting with that...  _thing,_ " he declared, voice softer now. His lack of sleep was catching up to him. "I'm not letting anyone else go through this."

The lecture was over. Hermann slumped against the wall next to the door, trying to deal with his own tirade.

"Sir?" Nereid asked, sparing the third member of their party --  _Rhea,_  that was it -- a worried glance. "What will happen to us?"

He scoffed. What should he do? He should have them dismissed immediately.

The silver casing of the PONS terminal caught his eye again. Newt would definitely have been impressed -- hell, he probably would've had them promoted. He pushed off of the wall and walked over to it, examining it with his glasses on. "I don't suppose you three made this."

"Y-yes, sir." Rhea spoke now, the one who wanted to  _understand._  "Tess-- Nereid and I designed it, but she implemented it. Crandall provided moral support."

"I-- we knew we had to have two Drifters against the Kaiju. Safer that way," Crandall muttered. "Nereid wouldn't do it."

Hermann picked up one of the PONS helmets-- they were using the old design. "Compatibility?"

"It uses the legacy system," Nereid said, and she sounded almost proud, now. "Compatibility required, not like the tech used now. We couldn't get our hands on new schematics."

Just like the machine he and Newt had used. Probably more up to code. He set his cane against the side and typed some commands into the terminal -- it used new software. Wires and tubing snaked their way from the third PONS input into the ports on the side of the brain tank. The one that Newt had used.

_Wait. That's still here?_

Hermann removed his glasses, letting them hang down against his coat. "Does anyone know about this? Your whole project."

_Hermann, what are you doing?_

They looked at each other nervously. "No, it was just the three of us," Rhea said.

He nodded. "Alright. I won't be filing an official reprimand on any of you -- you'll each be assigned double shifts for two weeks in the lab. It will be mostly paperwork."

The three visibly relaxed, surprised at his lax attitude.

"However, I'm keeping the mobile PONS unit. And revoking your security credentials for this floor. Now  _get out._ "

They didn't need to be told twice. They left all of their things behind in a mad dash for the door, footsteps quickly receding before disappearing altogether.

Hermann was alone, now. Alone with a PONS unit and Newt's precious Kaiju brain sample.

The idea should have scared him. He remembered finding Newt after his first Drift -- he remembered Newt's memories  _of_  his first Drift, the pain, the fear, the near death experience.

The rush.

_This isn't like you, man. Think about this._

Seven years was such a long time. It would-- it would be like Drifting with him by proxy. Right? He would see all of the brain's memories, which would include Newt's memories.

No one would know where to find him. He had just sent away his lifelines. And really, he had given up on understanding Newt years ago.

But... he could use every scrap of information he could find. For the war effort, of course. The PONS was still calibrated and primed.

Hermann picked up a helmet.

 

* * *

 

Newt was slammed back into his body in the middle of the night.

It was a feeling akin to being wrenched out of water right before your air ran out, with the sting of chemicals swirling through your sinuses. His head buzzed with nervous electricity, voices shouting and panicking and reassuring and planning.

This was different than last time, waking up with a blank memory. This time, he remembered  _everything._

And boy, was his brain full.

**_Newton, what have you done?_ **

**_He did this to us! He's hidden him from us!_ **

**_Should have killed him when you had the chance. Your weakness let him go, your humanity!_ **

**_Calm down, take a breath. It's temporary. We always come back._ **

**_Where is she, what's happened? I can't find her! Where's Alice?_ **

"What the fuck. What the  _fuck?_ " he said, to no one in particular.

He remembered where he was. He remembered leaving the Shatterdome, on  _their_  demand, and leaving Hermann behind. He remembered reading his emails, watching as they made him rewrite and rewrite them. He remembered sneaking around Shao Industries, locking down a lab, building new kaiju for himself. He remembered the late nights drinking, hoping to drive them out, to make himself into such an unusable host that they would leave him alone, just this once, just for one night--

Oh, god. The last decade of his life wasn't even his, was it?

**_You. Newton Geizler._ **

The voice was clear in the back of his mind, reverberating around the circular cell. No, wait -- that was his voice.

They were  _talking._

**_"You have failed us,"_**  they said.

"What-- I don't..." He pulled at the chair cuffs, as if running would make them shut up. "I mean,  _yeah._  They stopped us. I don't think that's my--"

They dialed up his headache, and he could hear a whine in his ears. He could feel the blood streaming down his face, and he dropped his head in agony.  ** _"You promised us the world. You were supposed to be different."_**

Different. He was different by default, wasn't he? The whole Drifting thing and all.

**_"You were our emissary. Could you not handle one simple job?"_ **

There were so many of them. They spoke with the voice of a legion, threatening to tear his vocal chords to shreds, shaking him like a man possessed.

Yet, he laughed.

"I-- I guess not," he croaked. "I guess humans are stronger than I let on."

**_"You will fix this. You will find Alice, and you will come back to us. Then we will begin work again."_ **

"Again?" he scoffed. "Man, fool me once--"

Newt threw himself back against the chair, his chest constricting, blood rushing in his ears.

Oh, he did not like that. Panic crept into his stomach.

**_"We have chosen you. We know better than you. You will do as you have promised. Your colleague will return Alice to us."_ **

Colleague? Return Alice?

The cell door opened, as if on cue, and it was Hermann.

He was wheeling a silver box in front of him.

**_"Where's Alice?"_**  he heard himself shout, lurching forward, staring at Hermann with blind rage.

This wasn't him. The Precursors had ripped the steering wheel from his hands, unable to blind him this time, making him a silent bystander. These weren't his emotions, this wasn't his tirade.

He did want to know where Alice was. Until they had brought it up, however, it had been the last thing on his mind.

Hermann looked him up and down, and Newt looked back, banging on the proverbial glass. Could he see him? Did he know he was here, now?

Hermann.  _Hermann._  For the first time in a decade, he was looking at Hermann through his own eyes.

"Alice is... indisposed, at the moment," he said, choosing his words with great care. "But I thought about your proposal."

Proposal? What proposal?

The Precursors spoke among themselves in hushed tones, weighing their options in committee.

Newt took advantage of their silence. "What's  _that?_ " he asked quickly, looking at the silver box. There was a screen on the front, almost like a terminal. It looked vaguely familiar.

As if in response to his question, he felt force in his stomach, and he doubled-over, winded. Blue covered his vision.

Hermann's expression changed to worry, and he set his cane down off the crook of his elbow, walking closer to him. "My counter-offer," he replied. "Newton, are you--"

_"He's busy,"_  the Precursors said. Newt felt a grip on his thoughts, like the tightening of a leash. "Explain yourself."

Hermann froze, stepping back. Now that he had moved, Newt saw the vague shape of a PONS helmet in the midst of wires.

Oh, Hermann,  _no._

"I'll...  _join_  you," he said, apprehensive, "and I'll show you where Alice is. But you get either one or the other, not both of us. You can't keep Newton. He can't take any more of this."

_Hermann,_  Newt wanted to say,  _you know it won't work like that! You can't outsmart them, if you let them in--_

Well. If he let them in, they were both fucked.

Newt recognized an emotion almost like satisfaction within the Precursors.

"I see," they said. Newt hated the way they smiled, the way they stretched his mouth just a bit too far. "You're finally seeing it my way."

He had to do something. Hermann should be smarter than this, he was always wiser than him, this shouldn't even be an  _option_  to him. He was throwing away his life. Their lives.

_"Don't--"_  was all he could manage before they pulled him back down into the sludge of his brain, into the cacophony of their screams and demands.

He focused on Hermann's eyes. The way they moved ever so slightly, betraying something like guilt or fear in his face.

"Newton, it's-- it's quite alright," he said, and there were tears on his cheeks. "It's time for you to rest, now."

"Ugh." The Precursors did their best to talk through the emotion threatening Newt's features. "Just stick the helmet on me and get it over with."

He couldn't do this. Newt fought against the cuffs, against whatever hold the Precursors' had over him, but nothing happened.

Hermann put the helmet on Newt's head.

"I hope... I hope you'll forgive me, Newton," he said, pulling his own helmet into place. He pulled the chair next to the terminal and sat down, careful to remove any danger from himself. "I really do."

His hand raised to the remote.

_"Hermann,"_  Newt breathed. Tears blocked his vision. "Don't do this.  _Please._ "

Hermann faltered for just a moment.

Then he steeled himself and pressed the button.

 

* * *

 

 

_"This is, erm... Kaiju-Human Drift Experiment take... three, I believe. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb speaking._

_"I'm using Dr. Geizler's previous frontal lobe sample from his first Drift, about seven years and a week prior. Neurological activity is stable, and the PONS system I'm currently using was constructed by a few techs in K-Science. Remind me to send them a thank you card._

_"I, uh... I'm scared, Newton. I don't know how you did this the first time. The amount of will it must've taken... then again, you had no idea, did you? What it would do to us-- to me. You found something in this Drift. I don't know what it was, or where you found it, whether it was-- within you, within this... disgusting thing... but that's the only thing that makes sense to me, now. This was the difference, this piece. And I... must take a leap of faith._

_"If you're hearing this, I didn't survive. Because if I did survive, I would be telling you about this personally, in person. So I could tell you that you know I..._

_"I... erm-- hm. I trusted you more than you thought, Newt._

_"Anyway. It's-- I can't keep putting this off. There's this-- this pull, dragging me in, beckoning me to the drift..._

_"Commencing neural handshake in three... two..._   ** _one."_**

Hermann slammed the button on the PONS rig, rattling the frame. No turning back.

He felt a slight pull on his mind, as if he had started to Drift, and then--

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them at all. There was no blood on his face, no alien presence in his head. No Newt.

It hadn't worked.

He stood abruptly, chair legs scraping across the floor, checking the readouts, the connections,  _anything._

It had to work.  _It had to work._

This was all he had left of him.

_Error! Insufficient sample,_  the terminal said in bright red lettering.  _No neurological activity detected._

"What?" he asked it, softly.

He looked back at the readout on the sample's housing. Everything was in order, it looked exactly as it had when--

_Wait._

Hermann tapped on the small monitor, swiping to a different display, pushing random buttons. Nothing happened, nothing moved. The picture was stuck, burnt in place when the power surge from Newt's Drift hit the tank.

It was gone. This-- this wasn't it. Someone must have reused the tank for another specimen, and it had been mislabeled, stored in the wrong place.

He beat his fist against the glass in anguish. Then he did it again.

The still whining voice recorder beeped softly in his front pocket.  _Low battery._

A sob escaped his lips, surprising himself. What had gotten into him? What had he just tried to do?

His leg gave out under him, cane long since discarded on the PONS cart, and he slid down the front of the tank's glass.

Of course. Of  _course_  this was his fucking breaking point. After years, he tries to Drift, to do what Newt did, and it doesn't fucking work.

How stupid he had been. He isn't Newt. Of course it didn't work.

The sample floated silently in the brackish liquid, disturbed by his show of force, bobbing side to side. Staring back at his empty eyes. What was it, he wondered? A section of lung? A chunk of hindquarters? Nothing smart enough to try and Drift with.

What would have happened if he had been right? Would that have really brought him the catharsis he thought he deserved? No, of course not, the cleaning staff would have found him dead on the floor in two weeks time. He would have wasted himself. He would have died alone, with nothing to show for it.

Was he this  _desperate?_  This lonely, that he would stoop so low -- stealing a PONS rig from a bunch of children and trying to Drift with his nightmares?

He leaned his head against the glass. Maybe he was. He couldn't think of a single person on base he was friends with, real friends. Not over the past decade. He hadn't gone out with anyone for drinks ever since...

Well. That was just sad, wasn't it?

Hermann took the audio recorder out of his pocket. "Newton, I-- I can't--"

His voice broke. He couldn't do this anymore.

Where had Newt's voice gone?

Had he finally lost him?

He noticed the absence of the beeping, and looked down in his hand. The battery in the recorder had died.

Wrapped in his ancient parka, tethered to the PONS, Hermann held the device close to his chest on the floor of cold storage, and wept.

 

* * *

 

_Newton, are you there?_

_Memories whisked by them in blue tones._

_Newt, fishing with Uncle Gunter. Hermann, building his first model plane. Newt, teaching in the labs at university, blowing up an unfortunate beaker. Hermann, standing at the front of the room on two legs, solving an equation he shouldn't have been able to._

_They had seen these before. They were comfortable, predictable -- products of the first Drift._

_I'm here, Hermann. I don't get it, what are you doing?_

_Confusion radiated from Newt, a product of the now. Hermann was calm, if a little jittery, and he was searching for something specific._

_Newt, attending a rally that would've gotten him fired if not for his tenure. Hermann, using his cane for the first time, haunted not by monsters, but man. Newt, getting the invitation to a little cafe in Zurich. Hermann, wandering the city alone, deep sadness in his stomach._

_Hermann was carrying more emotion into the Drift itself. It was a dam breaking, a decade's worth of silent patience._

_Newt's memories no longer have the same effect. They pass quickly, clinically, marks of a man who has optimized his efficiency._

_I don't understand. I don't get it, they're not here. I can breathe._

_No point in reliving all of their lives. The memories speed up, past K-Science, past every argument they had in the lab, past the closing of the breach. Past two friends finally sharing a drink._

_It slows the morning after, showing the lab, showing Newt passed out on the couch next to Hermann, both hidden under Hermann's parka._

_The new memories._

_Newt stirs first, holding a hand over his eyes, swearing he heard a voice, something, someone, calling out to him--_

**_We're still here._ **

_A faint alarm sends panic though their connection, and the scene breaks down into dust._

_We can't chase that memory. Only have one shot at this._

_One shot at what? What did you do?_

_The question triggers a new scene, one that starts blue and fades into focus, muted colors taking over. Soon, they can see each other, visual representations of the drift, and then--_

Hermann is back in cold storage.

Hermann is back in cold storage and he's running, faster than his leg wants to, down the corridors to the very back freezer. No time to take in the sights. He has to be quick, before they can take him again.

"What is this?" Newt asks, following close behind, a strange beacon of color within the sterile walls. "This is-- this was soon, this was today! Why are you showing me this?"

Hermann doesn't reply. He isn't wearing his parka and is shivering in the chill, white knuckling his cane, swiping his access card through the freezer's lock with shaking hands.

The door unlocks.

Both of them wince, and a pulse ripples through the air, sending waves of pain behind their eyes.

"What the hell...?" Newt wonders aloud, but he knows what it is.

Hermann pushes the door open with considerable effort, and is met with the green light of the Kaiju brain specimen's tank. The real one, this time.

Behind it, the old tank sits quietly, next to a silver box on wheels.

"Newton," Hermann says, "it makes sense now."

Newt stands next to him, concerned. "What does?"

"You're not connected to the hive mind. The biological connections -- humans do not physically possess the ability to join a group think such as that. But you  _are_ connected to  _them._ "

This isn't Hermann talking -- he doesn't look at him, he doesn't know he's there. This is part of the memory. A message.

"You're connected to them through Alice, through this-- this disgusting thing. And you kept it alive. I wondered, why would you keep it? Drifting with it nearly killed you. Us. I know you, you're not-- you've never been the type for mind altering substances."

Newt laughs, slightly. He can feel the worry building in Hermann's stomach, the uncomfortable throbbing in the base of his skull, as he circles the tank. He pulls on tubing, pushes buttons, flips switches.

"They made you think you needed it.  _You didn't._  Their hold on you was proportional to the bond you shared with it. That explains the withdrawals, the personality changes -- they want you to come back to it."

Hermann picks his cane up off of the floor, and it was then that Newt noticed it was different. It's made of metal.

And he's holding it like a baseball bat.

"They're nothing without this."

_"Hermann--!"_  Newt cries out, reaching forward, but he isn't fast enough. The cane comes down on the glass with a crack, and brackish, dull liquid pours out, all over the floor, all over Hermann's shoes.

The brain segment hangs loosely in the tank, suspended by its own entrails, desperately trying to keep itself up, keep itself alive.

Newt can barely breathe. He feels woozy, drowsy, weak -- just as Hermann does, nearly doubled over in pain. This is its last stand.

Now Newt notices the scream.

"This is for Newton. This is for  _ten years._ "

Hermann straightens up, winding back and hitting the segment hard, knocking it off of the side of the tank, onto the metal floor. He hits it again, and again, and again, with each strike loosening the pain in his bones.

Outside of the solution, it doesn't last long. It begins to decay, to dry out, the ringing screech in their ears growing louder and louder.

Then it stops.

Alice is gone.

And then Newt blacks out.

 

* * *

 

_"Neural handshake terminated."_

The terminal beeped, and Hermann gasped awake, lying on the floor by Newt's chair. There's blood, lots of it -- on the crown of his head, on his nose, in his eyes.

He had forgotten the feeling, after so long. The vulnerability, the trip down memory lane, the nausea. The feeling of sharing your headspace with someone else.

It was better without a damn Kaiju.

He reached up and grabbed the edge of Newt's chair, pulling himself back up onto his feet. For a moment, he worried he might vomit, but the feeling quickly subsided.  _Thank god._

Hermann brought his face up and away from the ground, and found himself at eye level with Newt.

_"Newt!"_  He looked vacant, out of it -- almost as bad as Hermann felt, and sounded worse. There was blood against his wrists where the locks had held him tight in place.

Hermann pulled off his own helmet and grabbed his tablet off of the PONS rig, punching in the code to Newt's chair. The arm and leg locks popped open, and Newt slid, nearly hitting the floor. Hermann grabbed him, quickly easing him down, disengaging the helmet.

"Newton. Can you hear me? Are you alright?" He checked his pupils for signs of brain trauma, finding that his eyes weren't tracking his face. Oh, god, what if he'd fucked it up? What if he'd made him a permanent vegetable?

Had he killed him? Disconnected his mind too fast, corrupted his brain?

Hermann brought Newt's head to his chest, holding him tightly. Ten years, and  _he_ had killed him. Not the Precursors.

_"Come on,_  Newt," he murmured, biting back tears. "Not like this."

Suddenly, Newt gasped for air, awake all at once.

" _Newton_! Oh, thank god," Hermann shouted, holding him down, grounding him. "Breathe, breathe, it's alright. You're  _alive._ "

" _Hermann._  Hermann?" Newt coughed, and he sounded like hell. "You...  _crazy bastard._  I can't believe you-- they--  _you beat the shit out of them!_ "

"Yes, well, I..." he seemed to realize their position, and let Newt go, knees definitely not up for the task of squatting on the floor. He sat back next to him, against the chair. "Heat of the moment, I suppose."

Newt laughed, and it was  _Newt_  now, unequivocally and completely. "Dude, I can't-- thank you. Oh my god,  _thank you._  How did...?"

"I knew I couldn't get to you while the Precursors were in your head," Hermann said, "so I had to get you disconnected. I realized it when they got to me -- my residual Drift connection shouldn't have been enough for an attack on that scale. So then, it wasn't necessarily the  _Drift,_  but something else: my connection to  _you._ "

"To me?" Newt asked. He looked almost lost, confused. "But-- I treated you like shit, Hermann."

"In the past decade, maybe, but that wasn't you. I... I knew you hadn't changed like that. I know you too well. They exploited that."

Silence blanketed the expanse between them.

"You never gave up on me," Newt said quietly. "Even after I tried to--"

"That  _wasn't you._ " Hermann's tone shifted quickly, dangerously. "Let's make something clear-- anything you said, or anything you did, after you left Hong Kong? Was  _not_  your fault. Alright?"

Newt didn't reply. Suddenly he was lurching towards Hermann and grabbing him around the middle, ducking almost as if trying to blend in, hide behind him.

Hermann turned to look at him, raising up his arms in surprise. "Newton? What's wrong?"

Silence, for just a moment too long.

Newt's voice was barely above a whisper. "I  _heard them._ "

Hermann looked around frantically, checking all sides. "The Precursors?"

"They're still-- they're gone, but it's like... it's like they left something  _behind._ " He was tense, cornered like a wild animal. There was still silence in the room. Hermann couldn't feel the same presence he had earlier.

Then he realized it.

"Ghost drifting."

"What?" Newt looked up at him, confused.

"A term I coined a few years back, trying to figure out the nightmares. It's similar to a phantom limb for amputees. You know how rangers will sometimes believe they have some sort of psychic connection outside of the Drift?"

Get him talking. Calm him down. "Y-yeah. They finish each others sentences and stuff."

"Right. It's echoes of each other's psyche, the effects of two minds sharing the same space. They start to pick up each other's trains of thought, speech patterns, habits, fears." He set his arm back down around Newt's shoulders, hoping to bring him some small comforts. "Newt, the Precursors aren't with you anymore, but there are going to be lasting effects of their... residency."

He was quiet again, and Hermann was worried he had lost him.

"What kind of effects?" he asked.

"Newton--"

"Answer the question, Hermann. Please."

He really didn't want to. "...given the effects I've seen so far, I would imagine lapses in lucidity, drastic personality changes, loss of memory, and erratic behaviors. There's no way to know for certain, and I don't know when they'll start manifesting."

They sat in silence for a moment, unsure of where to go from there. Newt finally unraveled himself, sitting back up against the side of the chair.

"Newt, we can figure this out."

"Lock me back up."

Hermann blinked back at his immediate response. "What?"

"Lock me back up! I-- some of the stuff I did, Herm, I... until we know what's going on, I don't want to hurt anybody." Newt looked over at him, tears in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you.  _Please._ "

Hermann thought about it for a tense moment. Now that he knew Newt was in there, and not some monster, he couldn't very well just lock up an innocent man.

But Newt had a point. They had barely known what one Drift would do, let alone hundreds. Thousands.

"Alright. Alright, fine, we'll... yes." Hermann felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and for a moment he thought he might break. "But not yet."

He reached up, pulling down his duffel bag of supplies, digging around for bandages and antiseptic. "First, we're going to patch you up, because your wrists are grotesque to look at. And then you're going to do some stretches, because you've been in that chair for nearly a fortnight, and the last thing you need are your muscles in atrophy--"

Newt rested a hand over Hermann's shaking fists, and Hermann looked up to see a familiar half-smile. "Thank you. For all of this."

Hermann hesitated, then set his other hand over Newt's. "I'm just happy that you're back, Newt."

"It's good to be back, Hermann."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this one was a little long, but i've been trying to keep each chapter sort of self-contained. and i didn't want to end this on an odd-numbered chapter!!!   
> thank you so much for reading! :^)


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